Chilly Returns And Warm Welcomes
by Wuchel1
Summary: John's return to New York - more specifically to the library - didn't go as he had thought it would... AU story which takes place after 3x13 - 4C.


**Author's notes:** This story takes place after _3x13 - 4C_ and is a companion piece to my stories _Lost In Translation, Not Just A Walk In The Park _and _Truth and Consequences._

**Acknowledgements: **A huge thanks to my beta _scully1138_!

Any mistakes remaining are all my own.

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The cold air hit Harold Finch's face like a brick wall as he stepped out of the comfortably over-heated trusted computer accessory store onto the barely snow-cleared sidewalk. With his scarf wound tightly around his neck and lower half of his face - and the newly acquired mainframe server securely jammed under his arm -Finch set forth navigating the hazardous frozen ground. As he limped through the half frozen and slippery slush the memory of drinking a cup of espresso outside at a plaza in Rome just the day before seemed more than surreal, and Harold Finch seriously started questioning his own wisdom of insisting that Reese and he return to New York as soon as possible.

The subzero winds bit into the exposed skin of his face and his glasses fogged up with each breath he exhaled. If it were up to Harold, he would gladly stay inside the heated haven of the library until summer returned - just so he could start complaining about the heat again. But an unforeseeable server crisis had forced him into this emergency run to the computer store which - by the way the cold was seeping through the leather of his expensive shoes - he was most likely to pay for with a toe or two.

At least the freezing temperatures seemed to also work in their favor as the Machine had remained quiet since their return from Europe - apparently even the criminal elements of the city were making use of _snow days_ these days.

Circumventing a particularly haphazardly piled mound of snow, Harold stopped in the middle of the deserted street to make sure he wasn't imagining the soft vibrations of his phone somewhere deep within his coat pockets. He sighed at the thought of having to take off his gloves in order to dig it out and for a short moment seriously entertained the idea of letting it ring. He continued his trek across the street while simultaneously shedding the protective layer of his leather glove and dug for his phone. The short amount of time it took him to reach the sidewalk sufficed for his fingers to turn a nice shade of red and he was already starting to lose the feeling in the hand clutching his phone.

Finch owlishly blinked at the display and sucked the mucous of his running nose - caused by the abominable cold - back in through his nostrils with a disgusted expression before he answered the call with his usual calm and controlled tone. "Yes, Mr. Reese?"

_"Finch, what did I say about you not telling me things?"_ Reese's low voice was unexpectedly cold and carried an undercurrent of anger - causing Harold to falter in his uneven steps.

"I'm not sure I can follow, Mr. Reese," Finch said and swallowed down the feeling of dread that had turned his mouth dry. He combed through his mind trying to figure out what could have set off the sudden mood change. Last night, when they arrived back from Rome everything had been fine - well, as fine as it could be after everything they had been through. It was not like they had actually _talked_ in depth about their differences - or any differences John might still have with the Machine - and Harold was pretty sure that Hell would freeze over before either one of them would voluntarily lay their soul bare. But Finch had been sure that they reached an understanding and the long stretches of silence between them during the hours spent on Finch's private plane didn't seem tense, but actually ... companionable.

Harold's mental search engine came up with no results, which worried him even more. "I'm sure whatever it is," Finch hurried to add before the other man decided to hang up and disappear into thin air again - and well aware that he sounded like a Hallmark card - "we can talk about it." He winced at the slight note of desperation he couldn't keep from creeping into his voice.

Harold's heart sank during the beat of silence that followed before Reese's gravelly voice broke it . _"I'm at the library." _

There was a cold emphasis to John's words which struck Finch as odd but nevertheless spurred on his reply. "Of course. I'll be there momentarily."

But Mr. Reese had already hung up ...

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Finch's glasses immediately fogged up as he entered the heated space of the library making it impossible for him to see anything at all. Even though his fingers had lost all feeling and he still had the box with his new hardware clutched underneath his right arm, Finch managed to take off the useless seeing aid. He proceeded to navigate through the bleary obstacle course that made up the lower floor of the library - although by now Harold could probably find his way around his secret sanctuary blindfolded.

He climbed the stairs faster than he usually would and by the time Finch reached the first floor landing his breathing was slightly labored; the feeling in his fingers and face had unfortunately returned and it was now busy sending what felt like the pricks of a million needles along his nervous system to his previously frozen skin. Finch hated winter - this year's especially. The extreme cold literally seeped into his injured spine, aggravating the stiffness and making each movement uncomfortable to plain painful. But all his discomforts were forgotten when the blurry world turned sharp again as he placed his glasses on his nose, revealing his makeshift command post to be empty.

"Mr. Reese?" Harold asked tentatively and swallowed down disappointment - and hurt as well - as he was only greeted with silence. He limped past the shelves packed with books - closing in on his desk with his five computer monitors and two keyboards - and placed the box from the computer store on its wooden surface. Harold's eyes fell on the empty chair he had expected to find his employee in and sighed.

For once Harold Finch could truly claim that he had no idea what was going on. He had no clue what had caused John Reese to apparently revise his decision of returning to work for Finch and the Machine, but he'd be damned if he didn't find out. He sat down at his monitors, his fingers flying over the keys as he called up the surveillance feeds surrounding the library in hopes of catching sight of Mr. Reese leaving the building and discovering in which direction he went - all while placing a call to the absent man, determined to let it ring until his wayward friend picked it up.

"Looking for the dogs, Finch?"

Harold had been so engrossed with his monitors that he hadn't heard Reese coming up behind him, but given the former CIA agent's knack for stealthy approaches he doubted that he would have heard him either way. Finch jumped out of his skin at unexpectedly hearing John's voice - a tiny yelp of surprise escaping his lips.

"Mr. Reese!" Harold exclaimed - more than vexed as he swiveled his chair around. "I don't think I can share your sense of hum-" Initially believing that he had been on the receiving end to a cruel practical joke, the words died on Finch's lips as he took in the sight in front of him with an intense feeling of Déjà vu. Reese was leaning against the wall at the end hallway with his arms crossed over his chest, giving Harold a hard look with slit eyes. His suit bore signs of a struggle - dust, scuff marks and torn seams - and his hair was in unaccustomed disarray.

Finch's brain finally processed John's exact words - made the connection between them and the disheveled appearance of his employee - and the blood drained from his face as he realized that he indeed had failed to inform John about an important piece of information.

"Oh Lord, I forgot to tell you about Ms. Fluffles ..."

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Finch's voice trailed off after he realized his _faux pas_ and he stared wide-eyed at his disgruntled employee. For a second neither of the men spoke - the hum of the fans of the many computers that Finch normally didn't even register was greatly amplified by the silence between them. Harold swallowed.

"Mr. Reese, I apologize." Subconsciously Harold's hands reached out with his palms turned upwards in a placating gesture as the words began pouring from his mouth. "I didn't mean ... I ...," and once again Harold's voice trailed off as he realized that he didn't really have an excuse. He dropped his hands in his lap in defeat and admitted, "It slipped my mind."

Pinching the bridge of his nose John sighed, lowered his arms to his sides and considerably relaxed his stance as he looked at Finch with an inquiring expression.

"You've taken up dog-sitting to supplement your income, Finch?"

"Oh no," Harold replied, relieved by the departure of the previous tension and even allowing his lips to form a small, lopsided smile, "there's no need for supplementing, I assure you. Bernadette just decided that the weather in New York was too cold for her liking and rather spontaneously fled to warmer regions."

"That's very ... smart of her, but why is her horse of a dog here?" John asked, his tone of voice slightly rising. "In the library?"

Finch paused before conceding, "I have to admit I'm not entirely sure how exactly we ended up with Ms. Fluffles -"

"You," John pointed out quietly yet determinedly - which earned him a slightly annoyed look from his employer._ "You_ ended up with Ms. Fluffles, Finch."

"Anyway," Finch continued. "_I _seem to have agreed to watch her for a week ... or two."

At Harold's last words John took a deep, suffering breath and looked briefly towards the ceiling as if he were asking a higher power to be put out of this misery. "Just ...," Reese said, once more pinching the bridge of his nose, "keep her away from me." He looked down at himself and back up at Finch - accusation written all over his face. "I had just gotten this suit."

Finch sighed - deciding to ignore his employee's more-than-silent reproach - and remarked dryly, "Yes, I know. It really is a shame. Gianni did exceptional work. However I'm not sure I will be able to keep Ms. Fluffles away from you, Mr. Reese." He pointedly eyed the remnants of yet another expensive suit permanently marked by the Great Dane's paw prints. "She _really_ seems to like you. Believe me, she doesn't show that much affection to anyone else."

Reese snorted. "You mean doesn't 'attack' anyone else?" Finch just raised an amused eyebrow and John sighed in resignation. "I guess, I'll go and change then," he said with a grimace, but didn't move.

Finch, who wasn't really succeeding in keeping a smirk off of his face, swiveled his chair around to face his computer equipment. "Well, given your propensity for going through your suits at an abnormally high rate I guess it's a good thing that I had the foresight to order ten of these suits from Gianni for you, Mr. Reese."

Harold threw John a sidelong glance, amused at the other man's darkening scowl - which was accompanied by another beseeching look heavenwards - before Reese silently turned around and made his way down the hallway to where he kept his spare attire.

With Reese's back turned towards him, Harold allowed the smile that had been threatening to break out for the majority of the conversation to spread over his face. The smile abruptly vanished as he realized that something was indeed missing from the library.

"Mr. Reese," Harold pivoted his chair around and called after his employee. "Where_ are _the dogs?"

John stopped and turned just enough so Harold could see a disconcerting, sly smile playing around his lips.

"Last time I saw them Bear was showing Ms. Fluffles around the _'Rare Books Section'_ ..."

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_The End_


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